


A Thousand Words

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Empires
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanks to my usual suspects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abtagrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abtagrl/gifts).



Tom's already ten minutes late for class when he catches sight of the three guys in the grass. Two of them are playing the drums on their textbooks and the third is stretched out on his stomach without his shirt on. He's the one that really catches Tom's attention, a tattoo running down to the waistband of his sweats, disappearing under the fabric. The guy's left arm is a riot of color, and Tom’s fingers itch to grab his camera. He takes a step in their direction before he shakes his head and hurries off to his political science class.

There's a rash of sunny days and Tom sees the same three guys on the lawn every day. His English class always gets out late, so he never has a chance to stop and talk, to ask about photographing them. He knows he could just snap their picture and no one would be the wiser, but he wants more than just a quick photo like silver nitrate sliding across the paper. He wants close-ups of the ink, of the skin shadowed in gray and black. He wants detail in the colors that run from the guy’s bicep down to his wrist. Tom wants to see the things that aren't always there.

The weather turns and Tom doesn't see them anymore, or if he does, he doesn't recognize them under coats and hats and umbrellas, long sleeves and pants, scarves and gloves. He's pissed that he's missed his chance, but he stops thinking about it soon enough, content to let the universe roll on all on its own.

All that changes the first day of winter break. Tom’s working at the coffee shop on campus, bored out of his mind since most of the students have headed for places warmer than Chicago in December.

The bell over the door dings and Tom looks up from his book. It’s impossible to tell who it is or even if it’s male, female, or abominable snow-person, though Tom’s putting his money on the latter. He looks for some sort of sign, but everything is gender-neutral. Whoever it is isn’t actually wearing shoes, foregoing them for flip flops. The feet are tinged blue and there’s a dusting of dark hair on each toe, so Tom suspects male.

“Hey, dude.” Tom’s pretty sure ‘dude’ is gender-neutral as well, since he uses it for pretty much every greeting.

A hand unwinds the scarf and a tumble of curls falls out from beneath the edge of the fur-lined hat. Ice crystals fall off the scarf, almost melted by the time they hit the ground. “Wasn’t sure you guys were actually open.”

“Only because I’m a sucker for being able to eat. Can I fix you something?”

“Let’s just start with black coffee and see how that goes.”

“I think I can manage that.” Tom hops off the stool he’s sitting on and moves over to the coffee maker and the empty pot. “I’ll make some fresh.”

“In that case, can I have a cup of hot water while I’m waiting?”

“Sure.” Tom hands him the steaming cup then starts the coffee making process. “You’re a student? Or a professor?”

“Student. Music.”

“Me too. Photography.”

The hat comes off, and the rest of his hair seems to have a life of its own, static electricity causing it to stand on end. He bends over and wraps his scarf around his feet. Tom knows from experience that when he regains feeling, he’s going to be in excruciating pain.

“Anything else you need?”

He shakes his head and sits up, wrapping his arms around the cup of hot water, inhaling steam. His eyes are bloodshot and his nose is red, so Tom takes a pile of napkins over to him. “Thanks.”

“I have to ask if you’re from around here.”

“Wisconsin.”

“Okay, so...you obviously know how to dress for this weather. The whole coat, hat, scarf, gloves thing.” He glances over to the coffee pot to see how far along it is, then back at the guy. “Why the flip-flops?”

“I couldn’t find my shoes. Or I don’t have other shoes. One of those. I’m still a little stoned, man.”

“Fair enough.” Tom gets up and pours them each a cup of coffee. He comes back to the table and sits across from the guy. “I’m Tom.”

“Andy.”

“You want cream or sugar?”

“I’m good. Thanks.” He blows on his coffee then sips it, his shoulders going up and then sinking down as he swallows. “I was at a party. I’m not sure whose clothes these are. Might be mine, I guess. They fit.”

“If they’re not yours, someone’s going to be pissed.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll hide them somewhere and live in your back room until spring.”

“My boss might not like that. Guess it depends on how clean you are.” Tom takes a drink of his own coffee. “You’re welcome to stay here until I close up though.”

“Thanks, man.” He takes another drink and closes his eyes. He sniffs, his nose starting to run as the heat of the store thaws him out. “You know Jason Siska?”

“Nope.”

“I think he was the one having the party. I bet these clothes are his.” He sniffs again then wipes his nose with one of the napkins. “He must have had some primo shit too. Or I did. It’s really hazy.”

“More coffee?”

“Yes, please.” He stretches out his legs as Tom gets up, flexing his ankles. Tom hears him groan, and knows it’s just the beginning.

“You could go in the bathroom. Wash your feet in cool water. If you use hot, you’ll burn yourself, but cool will warm you up. I have a spare pair of socks you can wear.”

“Yeah?” He perks up and nods. “Cool. Thanks.” He stands up and then immediately sits down, groaning again. “Or I’ll just sit here, since my legs no longer function.”

“I have a better idea. Hang on.” He goes in the back and pours cool water into the bucket they use for hauling ice to the front counter. He brings it back and sets it at Andy’s feet then rolls up Andy’s pants to mid-calf. “It’s going to feel hot.”

“I’m good.” He closes his eyes as Tom guides his legs into the water, whimpering when it closes around his ankles. Tom straightens up and goes back behind the counter.

“You mind if I take your picture?”

Andy rolls his head to the side, but doesn’t open his eyes. “Depends. Are you going to use it to mock me?”

“No plans to do that.”

He nods and lays his head back over the back of the chair again. “Go ahead, man.”

Tom always has his camera with him, so it doesn’t take long to get it out and adjusted. Andy hasn’t moved at all, and Tom wishes all his subjects could be like that. He comes out onto the main floor and sits across from Andy. He adjusts his lens and captures the whole scene – bucket and rolled up pants, long and heavy overcoat, static and curly hair. After that he chances his focus, narrowing everything down to odd angles and smaller views, pieces of a puzzle that, put together, wouldn’t actually create the whole. Andy remains motionless except for the few muscle twitches that come with the slow thaw of his feet.

“What do you play?”

“What can I play or what do I play on purpose?” His mouth curves into a smile and Tom captures the hint of it with his camera. “Piano, guitar, flute, accordion, zither, bass, and drums.”

“Zither?”

“Yeah, it’s a...”

“I know what it is. I just didn’t think anyone played one in real life.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s a lot of call for it.”

“And the accordion.”

“We’re fond of polkas in my family.”

Tom shrugs. “Who isn’t?”

Andy laughs and eases his feet out of the water, letting them drip into the bucket. Tom gets off the floor and grabs a couple of towels from behind the counter. They’re mostly dry, and he’s supposed to wash everything tonight anyway. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He dries his feet off, smart enough just to pat them with the towels rather than rub them. He flexes his toes and grimaces. “You said you have socks?”

“Yeah. Hang on.” Tom goes to grab his bag and digs through it. He always has an extra pair when he’s biking, since he knows they’ll end up getting soaked from the snow. He tosses them to Andy and then comes back to sit. “You want me to crank the heat for a while?”

“No, thanks. I think with these on, I should be okay.” He unzips the jacket and shrugs it off onto the back of the seat. He’s wearing a flannel overshirt that’s unbuttoned and a gray henley beneath it. The top two buttons of that are undone and Tom can see the hint of color at the vee of the fabric. He notices Tom noticing and raises his eyebrows. “My eyes are up here, dude.”

Tom laughs, red staining his skin as he pulls back embarrassed. “Sorry. I just...I noticed your tattoo.”

“Oh, yeah.” Andy grabs his shirt and tugs it down to expose the red, black and turquoise of a Native American style bird. Something shifts inside Tom as he realizes this is one of his drummers. “Not an actual tribal art symbol, but I’m part Native American, and birds are my jam, you know? So I wanted something to combine the two.”

“I like it.” He grabs his camera and then stops. “Do you mind?”

“Dude, if I didn’t want people to notice them, I wouldn’t have shown you. Go ahead.”

Tom snaps a few photos, most of them just pieces of the tattoo in high focus. “You hang out in the quad. On the grass. You and a couple friends.”

“Yeah. Little drummer boys. That’s us.” He drinks more coffee, draining his cup.

“More? Or you want something frothy and syrupy?”

“Not really a frothy guy. More black coffee and cheap beer.” He levers himself up, holding onto the table as he puts weight on one foot and then the other.

“Me too.”

“You’re working in the wrong place for that, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, not a single cheap beer in the joint.”

Andy laughs and sits down again. Tom brings over refilled coffees and a couple of day old pastries, since the delivery truck got stuck in a storm in Minnesota, settling across from him again. Andy lifts his cup. “Cheers.”

Tom taps cardboard against cardboard and takes a drink. “You’ve got something on your back too, right? Dragon?”

“Koi. Shoulders, back, ass. Took forever. I’d show you, but most establishments frown on me getting mostly naked, also I’m still as cold as shit.”

“But you would? Get mostly naked?”

Andy takes a sip of his coffee, and Tom curses himself silently for sounding like a creepy weirdo. “Surprisingly, I don’t get asked that question by a lot of guys.”

“I mean, I’m not propositioning you. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong about propositioning you or that you’re not proposition-worthy. Just, you know...” Tom stutters to a halt and runs a hand through his hair as Andy just grins at him. “I mean would you let me take your picture.”

“Sure. Not like I’m modest about them. I mean, you don’t get a tattoo down onto your ass unless you plan to show people, you know?” He grabs one of the napkins on the table. “You got a pen?”

“No. Yeah. Hang on.” Tom grabs a pen from the register and tosses it to him.

Andy scribbles something on the napkin before setting the pen on top of it. He stands up and drains his coffee then tosses the cup toward the trashcan. It hits the rim and then falls in and Andy smiles. “My phone number. For now, I’m going to head home. I think I can make it with the help of your socks.”

“Okay. Well. Nice meeting you.”

“You too, dude.” He shrugs his coat back on and shoves his flip flops on, the plastic prong shoving the socks between his toes. He pulls the ties on his hat to hold it close to his head then wraps the scarf around his head so the only thing showing is his eyes. He lifts his hand in a wave, which is good, since whatever he says is completely muffled. Tom waves back and watches him until he disappears into the swirling snow.

**

Tom spends Christmas with his family then comes back to campus with leftovers and beer. He’s still stuffed, but he has an assortment of pies his mom gave him. His roommates are both gone, so there’s no chance of someone else stealing it if he leaves it sitting out. He drinks a beer instead and then passes out on his bed, too tired to even change his clothes.

The next morning the pie are still there, as are the plastic containers of potatoes and gravy, yams, stuffing, ham, and turkey. He’s going to start with the pie first, but then he has an idea. He put Andy’s number in his phone the night that they met. He’s seen Andy around campus, but hasn’t called him yet, even though he knows Andy’s stayed around for the holiday, since he saw him walking around a couple of days after they met and he was wearing real shoes. He punches the button and listens to the phone ring.

“Yo.”

“Hey, um, is this Andy?”

“Could be.”

“Well, what if I told you that this is Tom from the coffee shop?”

“Yeah, I’d probably definitely be Andy for that.” He laughs and Tom hears him inhale. It takes a moment before he continues, so Tom knows he’s smoking a joint. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking that I have a shitload of leftovers from dinner last night, and my roommates aren’t here, and you might be hungry.”

“You are a smart guy to be thinking those things.” Another inhale and Andy laughs. “I suppose I shouldn’t assume you’re inviting me over. I mean, I barely know you. Maybe you’re just mean and taunting me with the thought of a home cooked meal.”

“Nah. If I’d been taunting you, I would have started off telling you that I have pie.”

“Do you really have pie?”

“Yeah.” Tom realizes he’s grinning. “I’ll share if you bring whatever you’re smoking.”

“When and where, baby?”

Tom gives him his address, and Andy’s gone before he can even say goodbye. Tom takes a quick shower and changes his clothes, leaving his hair to air-dry and rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin. It’s only been a day, so there’s no reason to shave, no matter how scraggly his mom tells him he looks when he doesn’t.

He turns on his ipod and plugs it into the speakers, adjusting the volume louder since he’s got the room to himself. There’s a knock not much later and Tom opens the door, flinching as a ball of fabric hits him square in the face. “What the fuck?”

Andy shrugs. “I’m returning your socks.”

“By throwing them at my face?”

“They’re pretty harmless.” Andy shrugs. “Do you really have pie?”

“I don’t lie about pie, man.” Tom bends down and picks up the socks, tossing them toward his bed. He brushes his hair out of his face then gets annoyed, twisting it up into a loose bun on the top of his head. He shuts the door and watches Andy walk around the room.

“You room with some interesting dudes.” He tilts his head and stares at Mark’s book collection, which involves titles that Tom’s pretty sure are straight from a Michael Crichton novel about science gone horribly awry. “Science major?”

“No. Art history.”

“Like I said,” Andy nods, “interesting.”

“Dave’s studying organic chemistry and he pretty much hates us both. Says we’re cheating at college by taking classes that don’t require a genius level IQ. We don’t talk to Dave much.”

“I can imagine. So, you want me to get naked now or you want to eat?”

“I...what?”

“You called me? Invited me over? I assumed it was about the pictures.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, at some point. I just thought you might like to share the food. I noticed you didn’t go home for Christmas or anything.”

“Thanks, man. That’s decent of you. And observant. Let’s eat.”

Tom heats up plates of leftovers in the microwave then sits on the edge of his bed while Andy sits on the desk chair. They don’t talk much while they’re eating, though Andy makes appreciative noises, which makes Tom glad he invited him. They work their way through two helpings of everything, then Andy stretches out and rests his hands on his stomach.

“I think I ate more today than I have all year so far.” He covers his mouth and burps, groaning in relief. “My compliments to your mom.”

“I’ll pass them along.” Tom lays back on the bed. “I think I’ll be in a coma the rest of the afternoon.”

“Sounds good to me.” Andy closes his eyes and they’re both quiet, only the music in the background providing any noise. Tom’s not sure if they both fall asleep or if it’s just him, but when he blinks his eyes open, the room is dark.

“Shit. What time is it?” Tom sits up and reaches for his clock, turning it around as he snaps on the light next to his bed. “Oh, crap.”

“Hmm?”

“Must have fallen asleep. Just that sudden adrenaline kick, you know? Where you think you’re late for something – work or class or something.”

“Right. I’ve heard about that.” Andy laughs and stretches, something in his back or shoulders popping. “So. You still want to take my picture?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Andy shrugs and tugs off his long-sleeved shirt, tossing it onto Tom’s bed. He still has a T-shirt on, but the tattoo running down his left arm is visible just beneath the sleeve. The most striking part of it is the ring of trees around his bicep, their roots pushing down through an inch thick band of black. His skin is tanned, but the black is stark against his white shirt.

“I...wait.” Tom moves quickly to the other side of his bed and frees his camera bag from beneath his coat. “Don’t move.”

Andy smiles and stays still. Tom checks his ISO and F-stop and then moves as far from Andy as he can get. He takes a few wide shots, both horizontal and vertical, before starting to move closer. Andy moves his arms when Tom tells him to, stretching them both over his head. Tom sees the elephant on his right bicep and zooms in on it, shifting after the first shot so that the trees are blurry in the foreground.

He circles around, adjusting his camera to combat the late afternoon sun, letting the light halo the dark. “Take off your shirt?”

Andy does, throwing it over the back of Tom’s desk chair. Tom narrows the camera’s focus, highlighting segments of the red and turquoise ink of Andy’s chest piece. Eventually he zooms out to capture the whole tattoo, then all of Andy’s chest. His chest is nearly as tanned as his arms, and his nipples are tight, beaded and slightly darker.

“Are you cold?”

Andy leans against the wall. “Nope.”

Tom feels a warm blush creep up the back of his neck. He’s completely unable to read signals, but something in Andy’s eyes fires a heat in Tom’s stomach. “We could have the pie now. If you’re hungry.”

“All I’ve done today is eat and sleep. You’re the one doing all the work running around with the camera.”

“We’ve all had to pose in class. I know it’s harder than it looks.”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Worked my ass off, so don't think I'm not getting my share of the pie." He grins as he pulls his t-shirt back on, and Tom can't help smiling back at him.

"Cherry, apple, or pumpkin?"

"I think you mean cherry, apple, _and_ pumpkin."

"Right. What was I thinking?" Tom laughs. "Dig the whipped cream out of the fridge."

Andy does then sets the cold can on the small counter. "You always have whipped cream on hand?" He waggles his eyebrows and pops the lid off the can, shooting a shot of whipped cream straight into his mouth.

"My mom included it with the pie because we aren't heathens. Pie without whipped cream is like a crime against all that is good in the world."

"You've got some strong opinions on whipped cream."

Tom takes the can from him and sprays huge dollops on the pie slices. Andy takes a piece and lifts the plate in Tom's direction. Tom mimics him. "Bon apetit."

"Salud."

They make short work of the pie, and Tom upends his plate to lick it clean. Andy laughs and Tom flips him off. "No whipped cream is to be wasted."

"According to what? The Church of Dairy?"

"The Oracle of Elsie." Tom grins and lifts the can to his mouth, taking a shot of his own. "Worship at the altar of the udder."

Andy snorts a laugh. "You are a fucking weird dude. I like that." He grabs the whipped cream from Tom and fills his mouth, closing his lips so some of it catches the corners of his mouth and dribbles down his chin.

"You're _wasting_ it." Tom pitches his voice higher, sounding scandalized. Andy use his finger to catch the glob on his chin, then reaches out and smears it on Tom's lips. Tom's breath catches and he licks his lips, his tongue curling around Andy's finger. He doesn't intend to do it, but once he's started he doesn't stop, sucking Andy's finger into his mouth.

Andy groans and steps closer, tugging his finger from Tom's mouth. There's a wet sound that makes Tom's dick jerk, and then Andy's mouth is on his. Tom's hands slide to Andy's back, gliding up his spine as Andy's tongue pushes deep. Tom sucks on it, swallowing the hot sounds Andy makes.

They stumble backwards to Tom's bed, Andy releasing Tom as he falls backwards, ending up sprawled on the mattress. Tom doesn't hesitate to follow him down, legs fitting easily between Andy's spread thighs. "Fuck yes," Andy gasps into Tom's mouth, his hands firm on Tom's ass to hold him tight against him.

Tom pulls back, his chest away from Andy's. He tugs his t-shirt off and tosses it aside. Andy moves his hands over Tom's hips and then undoes his jeans. Tom raises up and shoves them down his thighs, his cock hard in his boxers. Andy undoes his own jeans and presses his heels to the mattress, pushing his jeans down and then lifting one leg at a time to get them off. He's not wearing anything beneath them and Tom groans roughly. "Fuck."

Shaking the jeans off his leg, Andy reaches for Tom's boxers, easing them over his cock. Tom's breath catches and he shifts back onto his heels to get both the boxers and jeans down below his knees before kicking them off as he lies back down on top of Andy.

Andy hooks one leg around the back of Tom's and thrusts upwards, skin against skin as their dicks slide together. Tom shivers and lowers himself to his elbows, biting Andy's lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. Andy pushes his hips up again and Tom releases Andy's lip to kiss him, tongue sliding over his. The kiss is slow in stark contrast to the way their hips are moving, rocking into one another, dick sliding against dick. Tom nearly loses his rhythm when he feels Andy’s hand slide between them. His palm slides over the head of Tom’s dick, smearing pre-come on both of them, and then Andy’s fingers closing around their dicks and holding them together, but not so tight that Tom can’t still feel the slide of skin, the slick stickiness of Andy’s palm.

They both keep moving, more frantic now that there’s heat and friction from Andy’s grip. Andy’s hand is moving in tandem with their thrusts, trapped tightly between their bodies so that his knuckles rub against Tom’s stomach. “F-fuck. Fuck.” 

Andy groans agreement, his head falling back. Tom bends his head to press his lips to Andy’s neck, sucking lightly before grazing the skin with his teeth. Andy’s hips buck up hard and so Tom actually bites him just enough to leave a red mark, but nothing too deep. Andy hooks his free hand around the back of Tom’s head and holds him against him, so Tom bites even harder, his teeth sinking into the warm skin of Andy’s throat.

Andy grunts and then Tom feels the hot smear of come on his dick and his stomach. All he can hear is Andy’s breath in his ear, panting roughly as he keeps moving. His grip is looser, slicker, and hotter all at once, stroking come along the length of Tom’s dick. Tom shudders and lowers his mouth, biting the meat of Andy’s shoulder as he thrusts hard into his grip and comes as well. 

He lies there on top of Andy for a long moment, trying to catch his breath. He can see the impression of his teeth standing out in red on Andy’s throat and shoulder. He shifts so he can raise himself up onto one elbow and traces the marks with his finger. “Shit.”

“Mmm.” Andy stretches beneath him, and Tom’s body jerks at the rush of sensation. “So, I have to ask.”

“What?” Tom keeps moving his finger over the ridges of skin.

“Was it the tattoos, the picture taking, or the whipped cream that got you all hot and bothered?” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice and Tom shrugs, laughing softly at himself. 

“It can’t be all three?”

“Nope.”

“The tattoos then.”

Andy grins and tugs Tom back in for a kiss. “In that case, I can’t wait to see what happens when we actually get around to dealing with the ink on my back.”

Tom laughs again, thrusting down against Andy, even though they’re both spent. “Shit. Neither can I.”


End file.
